The Blackwell penthouse was silent. Too silent.

Ethan hadn’t slept in two days. The whiskey bottle beside him was nearly empty, but his thoughts were still loud, cutting through the quiet like broken glass. He’d read her letter so many times that the paper had begun to tear at the edges. Every word cut him open again — deliberate, final, haunting.

He’d built his world on power and precision, but now everything was unraveling faster than he could hold it together.

Outside, the skyline glittered, but even the city seemed to mock him — bright, alive, untouchable — while he sat in the ruins of his choices.

The news hadn’t...